Hero Complex
by tenebricosa
Summary: A vampiric Draco roams the streets after the fall of Voldemort. What happens when one day Harry Potter offers his life in exchange for a terrified Muggle girl's and his Hero Complex lands him in the vampire's den? Eventual DMHP, R&R svp.
1. I

_So, I've written something else. And guys, I have a plot. It's an exciting feeling, to know where the story is going, especially as it's not one I have very often. It has a beginning, a middle and an end. Now all you have to do is give me a reason to type them all out. You know what that means! It's time for every author's favorite request: R&R, s'il vous plait._

_All right, all right. Enough note. On with the story!_

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"Darling, darling, what are you so afraid of?" Draco grinned maliciously, baring his fangs at the young woman cowering before him in the alleyway.

"You're…you're a…a…"

He grinned again. "Vampire? Why yes, it would seem that way, wouldn't it?"

"You're not real; you can't be. Vampires don't exist." She straightened her shoulders slightly, reviving some hidden courage. "I've just had a bit too much to drink. I'm seeing things. Oh, Abby will laugh at me in the morning."

"A bit too much to drink? Well yes, that's true enough. Why else would you have come out into this alley with me in the first place? Poor judgement on your part, I must say. But as for vampires not existing, I'm afraid I've got you there. You have before you direct evidence to the contrary and you still try to affix the blame to your stupid scapegoats. Hallucinations, alcohol, drugs, stress. Oh, sweetie, I've heard it all. You Muggles and your incompetence, your complete _inability_ to recognize the truth when it comes up to you and bites you in the arse. Or the neck, for that matter. It disgusts me."

He tilted his head slightly to one side and smiled slightly, saying, "However disgust or no disgust, I'm still hungry."

He leaned forward, resting his hands on the wall to either side of her head. "Sit quietly now and it'll all be over soon."

He watched her face, reveling in the fear reflected in her fine features, and was annoyed when the focus of her attention shifted from him to something behind him. A glimmer of hope sprang into her eyes. A potential rescuer then, he mused. Very well, he would feast tonight.

Draco waited until the other Muggle was very close to him, close enough to touch, before spinning to face him. In a split second he had recognized the man and with a snarl of fury had drawn his wand. He hurled an expelliarmus at him and grabbed the falling wand almost before the intruder had time to recognize the situation.

Simultaneously pointing his wand at the other man and moving behind the frightened girl, Alexandra he thought her name was, he waited for the situation to play out even as he enjoyed the power it afforded him. His grey eyes challenged those of the man across from him, a silent hatred seething there along with his defiance.

"Malfoy."

"Potter."

"Leave her alone; this is between us now."

Draco bared gleaming white fangs and lowered his head slightly, his mouth threateningly close to Alexandra's bare neck. She whimpered slightly, eyes darting back and forth between Harry, her potential saviour, and Draco. "I'm afraid it's not, Potter. There's more to this than just simple rivalry. I'm hungry and you're not going to stop me."

He rested his fangs on her neck, slowly pushing down, not quite breaking the skin. All the time he ignored Alexandra's silent terror and watched Harry's face, sorting out the swirling emotions. It was obvious that the stupid boy wanted to save the girl, despite never having met her before in his life. He obviously didn't realize that there was no chance for her now. Fear flickered to disgust flickered to hope, and Harry spoke, very quietly.

"Let her go, Malfoy."

Draco lifted his fangs from the girl's neck, ignoring the appealing feel of her heart beating. He took a last hungry look at where blood pulsed just beneath the surface and raised his face to look at Harry. "And why should I? I found someone delightfully complacent and I've decided to eat. Who knows, maybe I'll even keep her alive for next time."

The girl chose this moment to faint, sagging back against Draco. He dropped her with an expression of disdain and turned his attention back to Harry, carefully holding his wand between them.

Harry was silent so he spoke again, "What brings you to this part of London, Potter? Out for a midnight stroll in _this_ neighborhood? It's a disgusting place, really. Everything's so dingy and horribly common. Of course, no one quite cares what happens to the sleazy girls here, either."

"Don't you touch her. Leave her there, she'll wake up in the morning with a hangover thinking this was all just a bad dream, a hallucination brought on by too much alcohol and," he sniffed the air, "probably too much cannabis, too."

"As fascinating as the idea is, Potter, you have yet to give me a reason not to bleed her dry and leave her cold and lifeless body here for her friends to find in the morning. For that matter, you haven't given me a reason not to do the same to you."

"That's just it. Do it to me instead."

"I am intrigued. Tell me more."

Harry took a deep breath and a step forward, stopping when Draco's wand poked him in the small hollow at the base of his throat. "You want someone to…feed off of. I want you to leave her, and all the others like her, alone. It's all very simple, isn't it?"

"You stupid, stupid boy. Do you have _any_ idea what it is you are offering?"

"Yes."

Draco raised an eyebrow in eloquent disbelief. "The great Harry Potter, here before me groveling at my feet, well, close enough for now, for the life of a Muggle he's never met before. Now this _is_ an interesting turn of events, isn't it? Now tell me, why shouldn't I just do _this_," with a flick of his wand Harry was bound and helpless on the ground, "and feed on you anyway?"

"Because," Harry jerked his shaggy black hair out of a mangy puddle of water, altogether ruining the aloof look he had almost achieved, "I'll come willingly."

"Now there," Draco mused, "is an interesting concept."

"I have conditions."

"Conditions? Someone in your state is hardly fit to impose conditions on any deal we might strike. I could do anything I want with you right now and to hell with your 'conditions'."

Harry ignored him. "First: don't turn me. That's easy enough, right? Second: use me, abuse me, do anything you want with me, but _only me_. No more preying on drunken Muggles in dark alleyways, no more frightened girls without a clue what's going on. Fuck, I'm frightened enough for all of them but I'll go along without too much of a fuss."

Draco bent over him, squatting in the filth of the alleyway. He brushed a stray strand from Harry's face and thought carefully about the offer. To kill Potter or take him as veritable slave and easy meal for years to come? The answer came to him quickly.

He flicked his wand absently and the ropes fell away. Harry stood, rubbing his wrists, awaiting the verdict. Death or a lifetime of servitude to his nemesis. Neither option really appealed but he knew which one he hoped Draco would chose, despite a slight and quickly crushed niggling in the back of his mind that the girl could not be worth this.

"Come along, Potter, we're going home."


	2. II

_Yes! Chapter two is out. It took me long enough, right? But it finally got out because of all the lovely reviews I got last time. Being at that stage where I need the constant affirmation of any potential writing talent your reviews mean a lot to me. On that note: read and review!_

_I hope you like it:_

Harry fought a rising panic, gulping back fear in an attempt to keep it from spewing out his mouth into the dingy alleyway. It wouldn't do to show Draco the terror he really felt. Instead he stood slowly, brushing himself off as best he could as he collected his thoughts and emotions into one manageable word.

"Home?"

"Yes, Potter. Home. You didn't think I'd let you go wandering off now that I've finally got you right where I want you?"

"You know I wouldn't leave. We made a deal."

"Yes, yes, Gryffindor pride and all that. All the same, I think I'll keep you where I can see you. You're as wily as a Slytherin, given the chance, so I don't intend to give you that chance. On the contrary, I intend to make very sure that you do _exactly_ as I please.

"Now I believe there was a slight matter of me being hungry."

Harry shuddered and slouched against a graffiti-covered wall, strength draining from his legs. He looked plaintively at Draco and all the fear he had tried so desperately to hide earlier now made its grand debut, written across every line of his face. He closed his eyes as much to block out the painful reality as to hide his emotions behind a translucent screen. "Do it then," he murmured quietly.

He opened his eyes to see Draco advancing on him in slow, measured strides. The vampire's emotions were also quite clear, hunger warring with a fair share of smugness as though finally subduing Harry Potter had been the result of a careful plot instead of mere chance. Harry snapped his eyes shut and scrunched his face to keep them that way even when he could feel hot breath against his neck.

As he would later recount to a somewhat less-than-amused audience the next thing he remembered was being dragged through the front doors of Malfoy's manor. It wasn't, he explained patiently, that he didn't want to share the details. It was that he simply couldn't remember for one reason or another and would his friends please be patient because there were really more interesting things to talk about than _why_ he couldn't remember the first time he was bitten by a vampire. Such as being dragged into Malfoy Manor.

It was a rather uncomfortable feeling at first. When Harry awoke he vaguely wondered two things. The first was why the stars were where they were, dancing in front of him in their celestial way instead of above his head where they really should have been. They had always been above his head before, though perhaps they'd simply gotten tired of the same old thing night after night.

The second was why his head hurt so much. The solution to the first problem was to lie there and look for constellations. The reason for the second became apparent very quickly when his consciousness returned in full and he came to realize that he had just been dropped on a marble floor.

To say floor wasn't entirely accurate, he realized, sitting up and rubbing the back of his head gingerly, as it was more of a very large front porch in front of a very large house built of the same marble of some color he couldn't see in the near-dark. He glanced around but saw only moon-lit marble.

He reached for his wand to conjure up some ice and nearly let himself drop again when he realized that it wasn't there and, more specifically, why it wasn't there. He leaned forward and bent his legs, looping one arm around them to hold himself up. Harry then, against his better judgment, poked indelicately at the side of his neck. He regretted it almost instantly, jerking the offending finger away from the burning pain.

"Well that was priceless." The slow drawl from behind him made his skin prickle unpleasantly.

"Shut up." He poked it more gently, feeling out the two puncture marks with a fingertip. "It hurts."

"Yes, I'm sure it does. Also, I don't care. Stand up. Walk inside. Now."

Harry frowned but decided it would most likely be in his best interest to stand up and walk inside no matter how much obeying a direct order rankled.

He pushed himself slowly and unsteadily to his feet and managed to stumble through the doorway despite the lightheaded feeling movement gave him. The large wooden doors parted for him as he walked forward though the amount of attention he had to pay to his feet's movement to avoid tripping precluded his noticing how they did it. He assumed it was an elf or maybe even a human servant but the thought fled his mind entirely when he saw the interior of the mansion.

The large foyer of white marble was obviously designed to be ostentatious and imposing, to put any visiting friends, family, rivals, and even minor nobility in their place. Harry was suitably impressed by the soaring ceilings and plush furniture. A coat of arms was inlaid on the floor and he assumed it was the Malfoy crest. An ugly thing, all sanguine snakes curled around a pillar.

He tilted his head upward to look up at the twin arching marble staircases that twisted around each other in their ascent and promptly tripped over his own feet, a combination of blood loss and innate clumsiness throwing him off balance. A few seconds later he found himself sprawled across the floor with a smirking blond looking derisively down at him.

Even as Draco's lip curled upwards in distaste he reached one elegant hand out to yank Harry to his feet. Holding a hand to his head Harry stepped away from Draco and looked at the rest of the room, more carefully this time.

"Why yes, it is rather impressive, isn't it?"

Harry nodded slowly, not sure enough of his position to say anything to the contrary.

Draco spoke again a moment later. "Potter, I've decided to give you a choice. You can stay up there," he gestured vaguely towards the upper floors, "or down there." This time he pointed down at the marble floor. Seeing the slight look of confusion on Harry's face he elaborated, "The Malfoy dungeons have long been renowned for their…hospitality.

"It's up to you, Potter. Prisoner or guest. Dungeons or," he smirked again, "my room. It doesn't matter to me; your role is fairly straightforward either way.

"Now, make your choice."


	3. III

_Chapter three! Chapter three! All hail chapter three._

_As for a certain reviewer who said she was sorry Harry gets back to his friends, what can I say? All I can do is point out that I never mentioned exactly who that less-than-amused audience was and you'll have to keep reading to find out!_

_Now I'll take just a moment here to say thanks for all the lovely reviews I've gotten so far. It's such a lovely feeling to see my inbox full of notes from people who took the time to tell me that they enjoyed what I wrote. So, please, concrit, reviews, flames, anything._

_Extra points for anyone who writes one in Latin or French:D_

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Harry looked at him blankly.

"Choice?"

"Yes, Potter, choice. I won't have you staying in my pristine suite and complaining about the accommodations so make up your mind. It doesn't matter to me; your position is clear either way."

Harry thought about it for a moment then spoke, "Well, if it's all the same to you, Malfoy, I'd prefer the dungeons."

Draco raised one eyebrow in eloquent disbelief. "Very well." He walked to and rummaged around in a cabinet to the side of the foyer for a few moments and came up after a short while with a small silver key and a triumphant grin. He tossed the key to Harry who looked at him and unconsciously mimicked Draco's earlier action.

"The door's down that way," Draco gestured vaguely towards a small corridor, "and you can have…hmm, the third cell on the right should do well. If I remember correctly it has a fully functional set of manacles. Be sure the key's waiting outside the bars for me."

Harry watched as Draco climbed one of the twin marble staircases and disappeared from sight. There had been times, he thought, when he would have loved to be in Malfoy Manor if for no other reason than to destroy everything in sight. Now that he was actually there he found that a small lump seemed to have settled into the pit of his stomach and was slowly growing, trying to push its way out.

He willed his nerves to calm and started to walk towards the corridor Draco had indicated stopping only for a moment to lean against a wall, recent blood loss making him light-headed. Harry wondered what it was that had caused him to pick the debatably more unpleasant of the two choices. Stubbornness, probably. He dismissed the thought when he found the staircase down and instead worried about not accidentally throwing himself headfirst down it.

It was a narrow stone thing lit by flickering pitch torches set in iron brackets. He noticed that they never sparked and showed no intentions of sputtering out even in the damp air which cemented his opinion that they were there for the atmosphere more than anything else.

Soon enough a small row of cells came into view, all carved out of the same dull grey stone mortared neatly and firmly together. He felt a frisson run up his spine as he wondered how many people had been incarcerated here over the years and tried not to think about what some of the stains on the walls might be.

The third cell on the left was clean and large with a small cot and a bench. It was rather decent for a prison and was certainly more spacious and better lit than the cupboard under the stairs had been. If it hadn't been constructed of undressed stone it might have passed for a room in a motel, albeit very cheap motel.

The third cell on the right, however, was designed to make the person in the third cell on the left realize how lucky they were to have their cushy quarters. It was smaller, darker and its only furniture, if they could be called that, was a pair of manacles hanging from a chain bolted to the wall.

Ten minutes later Harry was sitting on the floor with his hands tied above his head and his back against the wall. He had kicked the key just beyond the iron bars and settled back to enjoy the company of whatever pests the dungeon had to offer. He hoped there would be at least one snake in the godforsaken place. He could do with some decent conversation after what he'd been through recently.

After an hour he was getting rather annoyed. There was no point in sitting in a dungeon if you couldn't even pass the time plotting escape. He'd had quite a bit of experience in dungeons of all sorts from Snape's Potions classroom and the Slytherin common room to when he had been captured by Death Eater's during the last stages of the war, an experience he still refused to talk about.

This, however, was different than any of those times, because he was there not for plotting or mandatory class attendance or even for having been careless one day in Hogsmeade and waking up several hours later to the sound of dripping water and the scurrying of rats. He had chosen the blasted dungeon.

_Well_, he thought before drifting off into uncomfortable sleep, _at least I don't have to deal with Malfoy down here_.

Several hours later a girl in a demure gray dress and flat brown shoes looked through the grey stone cells, searching for Mr. Malfoy's new houseguest. She brushed a stand of long black hair back from her face where it had escaped from its ponytail and walked forwards with her tray.

She found Harry wide awake and chewing thoughtfully on his lip as he contemplated the dull metal bars of his cell. He looked bored. Not worried, just bored.

She picked up the key and slipped it into the lock, stepping inside as she spoke. "Good day. Mr. Malfoy asked me to send down some breakfast for you. He said to tell you to," she blushed slightly, "to bloody well appreciate the hospitality."

Harry nodded slightly and she set down the tray. "Here, let me get those." With a quick _alohamora!_ she released one hand. Harry scratched his shoulder, finally assuaging a nightlong itch, as he watched her pour tea into a small china cup. He accepted it gratefully when offered.

She studied him carefully for a moment. "Pardon my impudence sir," she began uncertainly, "but are you…are you…"

Harry rolled his eyes and brushed back his hair. He kept it long for a reason even though its constant brushing at the nape of his neck bothered him sometimes. Unfortunately no amount of hiding the scar had been helping since Voldemort's defeat. His face had been plastered all over the Wizarding World newspapers despite his constant requests that they find something else to print. He didn't mind as much as he had in school, though. He was used to the attention and usually managed to ignore it.

"Mr.Potter," she squeaked in near mimicry of Dobby. "Why are you…? Oh, I shouldn't ask questions; it's not my place." She stood quickly and started towards the door.

"What's _your_ name?" She stopped at the slightly amused voice from behind her. "You obviously know mine, to my utmost chagrin, but I have yet to learn yours."

She turned and looked at him nervously. "Dana, sir."

"Excellent. Sit down, Dana. Actually, on second thought, don't sit. The floor is filthy and you probably wouldn't want to get your dress dirty. Just don't run away so soon."

She nodded and crouched next to him. Harry felt distinctly silly with one hand in a manacle sitting in a dungeon sipping a cup of tea. The fact that she knew who he was made it all the worse. He watched her face. Oh, here it came, he thought. The inevitable question.

"Mr. Potter, sir, if it's not too much to ask and please don't hesitate to tell me if it is…why are you in Mr. Malfoy's dungeon?"

Alas. There went the chances of light conversation. Not like he could talk about the weather, anyway. There was no window to even see what it was. He debated telling her, then debated not as he finished his food. Eventually he decided on something that bordered between lie and truth.

"Let's just say I lost a bet and leave it at that." It was true in a sense. He had gambled, though he wasn't sure whether he had won or lost.

"That must have been a pretty serious bet."

"Yeah," he said quietly, "I suppose it was."

She stood up and collected the dishes and cup onto the tray. "I have other tasks to do, sir. I suppose I'll be by to see you later, assuming you're still here. Mr. Malfoy said he would be down to see you later today."

"Dana," she turned around for a second, "thank you."

She smiled and walked out, leaving Harry to replace his free hand in its appointed binding and to think. Draco was coming later that day. That should prove to be interesting.


	4. IV

_Chapter four is out! Thank you all for your lovely reviews, I really do appreciate each and every one of them. Since you all seem to like this story how about we have an incentive to review. For every review you get fifty words in the next chapter. Grammatically correct reviews get a hundred. A comment in Latin gets you a story with your choice of ship. Because I love Latin._

_Now contribute to my writing quota before I go back to college and have no time to write any of this! Go!  
_

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The stone was cold, hard, and unerringly gray. It somehow managed never to falter in its choice of color no matter how monotonous the task got. Morning, evening, and even nights when it didn't matter because the rats had laid down to sleep and it was too dark for them to see the chiseled rock never gave in to exhaustion or an overpowering sense of ennui. Harry hated it for that. 

He stared at the walls for a while, kicked some hay, and then spent a few minutes blowing his bangs out of his face. After that he stared at the walls some more, fiddled with his restraints and played the doubling game. Two, four, eight, sixteen, thirty-two…

He lost count around sixteen thousand, two hundred and eighty four. Arithmetic had never been a strong subject. Then he stared at the walls some more. There was something etched into one of them, words in a language he didn't speak.

_Hic Carcer Dolorem Mvndi Tenet_. He assumed Hermione probably knew it. Harry puzzled over it for a while but no matter how hard he squinted at them the words refused to make sense. Tenets were opinions, he reasoned, and Dolorem sounded kind of like…decorum? He gave up when the letters started to swim together in his vision and settled back to look at one of the more unappealing stretches of gray wall for a little longer.

By the time he had sunk to the level of trying to make his bangs float in front of his face by blowing on them with just the right force he was almost glad to hear the echoes of booted feet tramping purposefully down the hallway. He fell back to chewing his lip when Draco entered the cell.

The taller blond man stood there for a minute, looking down at his sworn enemy. His sworn enemy chewed his lip at him and managed to look entirely bored and fully alert at the same time. It was slightly disconcerting.

Draco leaned back against a wall, careful not to touch it any more than he absolutely had to, and smiled superiorly at his captive. "I trust the dungeons are suitable? Surely they must be better than the filth you lived in at Hogwarts. The Gryffindor common room…what a horrible thought."

Harry thought for a minute before responding. "What does that mean?" He pointed with his head to the etching.

Draco turned, surprised, and studied it for a minute. "Hic carcer dolorem mundi tenet? Something about having the something of the world. Or something of the world having something else. It's been a long time since I studied any Latin. " He shrugged it off and waved his wand in Harry's direction causing the iron shackles to disappear. "No one cares, Potter. It's probably been there for a few hundred years. Now stand up."

Harry figured he might as well obey but tried to do it his own way, standing as rebelliously as he could. Unfortunately that plan failed him as soon as his legs did. "Damn legs," he muttered, pulling himself up.

Draco rolled his eyes, disinterested in Harry's plight and walked over. Harry again felt warm breath on his neck but this time did not close his eyes. Suddenly Draco stopped and drew away. Harry saw the usual expression of distaste cross his face.

"What is it now, Malfoy? There's no going back on our agreement, no matter how much mutual dislike there is between us."

"First of all, Potter, there is. All I have to do is slit your throat and toss you in the compost heap." Harry gulped nervously. "Secondly there is a reason to my dislike right now. It's really very simple and I'm sure you would be able to tell me why it is yourself had you not stupidly chosen to come down here.

"As of right now I am revoking that privilege. You can come back to visit your rats later, if you so desire. I'm sure they're better company than your usual acquaintances. Follow along."

Draco started to march out of the room but was stopped by Harry tentatively calling his name from behind him and a slight thud. "Yes, Potter? What seems to be the problem?"

"Well, I'm not quite sure I _can_ follow along." Harry was sitting awkwardly on some dirty straw, rubbing one ankle. "My leg's asleep."

Quite some time later Draco had succeeded in getting Harry up the stairs. Harry found himself in a large white marble bathroom with a tub set into the floor like a swimming pool. He stood near the edge and peered in.

"All right. Now take your clothes off and get in."

Harry spun with an agitated squawk. "You want me to _what?_"

"It's called a bath, Potter. I understand that you might not be familiar with the concept so let me help you out here." Draco walked closer to Harry as he spoke, making him take small steps backwards. "First you remove your clothing." With a flick of his wand Harry stood there naked and shivering. "Then you," Draco leaned closer, "get in the fucking water." He pushed Harry in, dancing backwards to avoid getting splashed.

When Harry's mop of black hair finally broke the surface it was to see Draco sitting on a bench. The wetter of the two glared angrily at the dryer while staying close to the side of the pool-size tub. A bar of soap went flying in his direction. "You're filthy, clean up. And stop complaining about it, I won't have you being filthy in my house."

Harry dunked under the water and scrubbed the dirt of the past two days. Bits of straw floated to the surface and he picked the gunk out from under his nails. After quite a while spent enjoying the warm water and forgetting about who sat ten feet away Harry pulled himself up and rested his arms on the side of the pool.

"Clothes?"

"What, can't you find yours? That's quite a shame. Very well, follow along."

Harry groaned. That phrase was becoming all too familiar.

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_Leave a review?  
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	5. V

V_? Yes, chapter five. I wrote it in record time, only three days or so, which is remarkable for me seeing as how despite an amazing amount of free time I never spend any of it doing anything remotely productive. So stop complaining about the length. I'll post whenever I get about this much written, no matter how long it ends up being between updates. I realize it's not particularly long but it's either this or an update perhaps once a month. Even then I'd probably lose interest without continual reviews to remind me of what I should be doing.  
_

_That said, continue complaining about the length. I feel so loved. You are all officially my favorite people in the world. And as for you, aliba, I'm working out the kinks in it right now. Your story should be up sometime next week._

_Three brief responses:_

_Dragon – That was awesome. I inspired something! Also, you inspired something in me. Don't be surprised if some of that turns up sooner or later._

_Astyra – You write and it makes my day._

_Shady – Simply put: thank you._

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A short time later found Harry standing in the center of Draco's room clad only in emerald boxers while Draco rummaged through his closet, tossing clothes over his shoulder as he went. Draco had decided that his new toy should be appropriately dressed. Harry shuddered to think what that might entail. He might have given himself up to this of his own volition but he still held to the last shreds of his dignity.

He had tried to tell Draco this but the blond had merely laughed. Superiorly.

After a while of watching the vampire fling vestments aside a pair of dark pants and a green shirt came flying back. The pants, Harry thought, were agreeable. Soft and cottony, very loose and flowing. The shirt however, he strongly disliked.

"I'm not wearing this," he stated flatly. "Not a chance. You may have me as a veritable slave, Malfoy, but I must have some say in the matter."

Draco didn't glance up. "Yes you are and no you don't."

"No. It's very simple. I refuse. Give me something else. Better yet, let me have a go at the closet."

"You've been out of it for long enough, Potter, no need to go back in now."

Harry turned a bright crimson and folded his arms crossly over his chest. "That is not the point and you know it. The point is that this," he brandished the shirt, "is entirely unacceptable."

"No?"

"I refuse to wear anything that says Slytherin on it!"

Draco turned, his eyes flaring dangerously. "You seem to imagine you have a choice. I assure you, it is those clothes or no clothes at all."

Harry decided that he felt disinclined to argue with a Draco looking as murderous as he did. For all he knew his next blood letting might be fatal. There was, he reasoned to himself as he pulled the shirt on, no clause in their agreement about that. Better to be safe than sorry. He had made that mistake before and all he had gained from it was a few new scars to tell interesting stories about. Like he didn't have enough of those already.

"Glad to see you listening to reason. Now stand still. I didn't bring you all the way up here for nothing."

Harry squirmed as Draco moved closer. Every nerve in his body said run but he fought them with all the success of a toddler told not to take candy from a stranger. He took tiny steps backwards, bumping after a too short a while into one of the posts of Draco's bed.

His eyes darted back and forth, desperately seeking escape. His resolve of that night in the alley had disappeared and the muscles in one leg twitched. Draco looked at him, very irritated, before flicking his wand and sending Harry flying onto the bed, landing spread eagle and unable to move.

He went to stand over Harry. "Stop. Squirming. I'm sure you don't like it when your food wriggles either."

"No…"

"We are in agreement, then. Stand still so I don't have to put you in a full body bind. That slows circulation. Difficult time for me."

"Oh, poor, poor Malfoy. I sympathize."

"Worse time for you, I assure you. You see, the puncture wounds have to be bigger. More pressure needed. Sustaining it longer also causes a buildup of this white gela-"

"All right. Fine. Enough with the details. That in itself was more than I ever wanted to know on the subject. Let me go; I'll be…good."

"Not likely. You're too thin. Malnourished brat."

"Oh, I'm _terribly_ sorry."

Malfoy flicked his wand again. "Enough with the sarcasm, Potter. You're poor enough fare without it."

Half an hour later Harry sat shivering on the floor while Draco readied himself for bed. The sun was coming up soon and he needed his sleep. "Find yourself somewhere to sleep," Draco yawned. "I don't care where you go, just so long as I can find you in the morning."

Harry stayed where he was sitting on the ground at the foot of the bed as chill settled over him. Every limb felt cold and heavy and even keeping his eyes open seemed like more work than it was worth. He slowly slumped backwards against the wooden post, his head lolling to one side. He was so tired.

"Fuck you too, Malfoy," he muttered as he drifted off to a restless sleep.

He woke that evening to a booted toe nudging his ribs. Draco stood over him holding a small vial of something blue and steaming. Harry groggily rubbed his left eye with the heel of his hand and looked up at Draco hatefully through the other.

"Oh, don't look at me that way. You volunteered for the position, what did you expect? Besides, there was a bed in that room over there." Draco handed him the vial. "Drink this."

"What is it?"

"Poison."

"No it's not."

"Exactly."

Harry shrugged and downed the blue liquid. It was bitter, tasting something like rhubarb, but from the moment he drank it a warm feeling spread through his body radiating from his stomach to the tips of his digits. He wiggled his toes and looked up at Draco questioningly.

"Blood replenishing potion, you dolt. I can't have you dropping dead on me. Not just yet. Now get up and put these on."

Nearly identical clothing from the day before was thrown at Harry and he started to disrobe with a sigh of a resignation as Draco stalked from the room. Slytherin again. Horrible. He did like the color, though. Green suited him, brought out the color of his eyes, as Hermione used to say.

He wondered what she was doing. Going to sleep, most likely. Maybe curled up in that overstuffed chair she liked so much. When she moved into her apartment she had deliberately positioned it within arm's reach of a well-stocked bookshelf and low wooden coffee table. Often she sat there with a mug of hot chocolate nearby reading some incredibly boring book until the early hours of the morning.

Harry pulled his shirt over his head and sat down on the edge of the bed. It was a lonely existence since the war's end. No one really cared for him any more, not beyond perfunctory respect. Apparently killing Voldemort as anything more than a helpless baby made him unstable. Though that might have had to do with the presence of the Aurors.

He shook his head to rid himself of the unwanted memory of them calling to him, telling him to back down. He didn't have to kill Voldemort. But they didn't understand. The prophecy…

He pulled off his pants and boxers and put on a fresh pair. He was just finishing pulling on the new pair of pants when a delicate cough at the door startled him into action. With reflexes honed by years of living on edge and needing to jump at the slightest hint of trouble and newly enhanced by the potion Draco had given him he spun, hand reaching automatically for a nonexistent wand.

He stopped almost immediately, looking rather sheepish about his reaction. "Oh. Hello, Dana."


	6. VI

_Yes, I know it took me a while. Yes, I know it's not particularly long. Yes, I know that there are a lot of unexplained things in this chapter. It was referenced earlier and I'll clear it up in a chapter or two - assuming I ever get my ass into gear and write the next chapters. Miracles do happen, right?  
_

_ Thank you to everyone who reviewed. Those intermittent reviews in my inbox were the only things that kept me from forgetting about this story altogether and eventually prodded me into writing something to continue it. So without further ado: Chapter Six.  
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She inclined her head slightly over the tray she carried, "Mr. Potter, sir."

"Umm…so. I assume Malfoy send you?"

She nodded and walked over to a table standing at the side of the room. While she fussed over the tray, pouring tea and setting out breakfast, Harry finished changing, quickly switching the old Slytherin shirt for a new, even greener - if that were possible, one. He perched on the edge of the bed while he waited for her to turn back to him and took a long look around the room, his new dungeon.

The furniture was elegant, as expected, and everything was green. All green, nothing but green. It was like being in a jungle, only instead of plants there were embroidered tapestries depicting green-robed men and green checkered snakes and instead of trees there was a wooden rocking chair carved with elegant spirals unsurprisingly topped off with a green velvet cushion. The overall effect was overwhelming but not unpleasant. Harry thought it was almost dreamlike and he unconsciously relaxed a little.

Dana's movement caught his eye and he barely managed to speak before she fled the room. "Leaving so soon…again?"

She gave him a half-smile. "I need to go. Kitchens is expecting me."

He frowned and watched her leave. He wondered if Draco had ordered her not to talk to him. He wondered if she knew what was going on. He wondered if she knew what Draco was. He wondered how much she knew about him, about everything he had done. He wondered which 'he' he meant in the last one, Draco or himself.

Still wondering, he walked over to the table. Throwing caution to the winds Harry dragged a chair over, sat down, and tucked in. He was hungry but not, he noted, as hungry as he should have been. It was probably an aftereffect of the potion but it felt weird to him to be full, or nearly so, after only a few sausages and an egg. At least he was being fed, he thought cynically. Things could be worse.

When he had finished everything he had been given Harry leaned back in the chair. He wasn't sure what to do. When everything should have been, by his estimation, very plain and simple with all choices removed and a course of action neatly set out for him along with the morning clothes he had as much freedom as he had ever had, perhaps even more. For years he had been given a false sense of freedom by the people that subtly manipulated his life and now with even that taken away he felt oddly liberated. He had been as much a prisoner then as he was now, only Draco was a little more straightforward about it.

He decided to wander a little. As long as he didn't stray too far, as long as he could be found, Draco had said. He pushed the chair back, stood up, and turned around, only to find himself face to face with his captor. Harry gave a little unwilling gasp and jumped backwards only to crash into the table, nearly knocking off a flower-filled vase. He grabbed at it, nearly breaking it again in his efforts to stop it from falling.

He straightened the delicate glass and, heart pounding furiously, turned back. He tried not to let his fear show, but he knew it would anyway, in his eyes. At one point during that interminable war things had stopped showing, his emotions had all died. It wouldn't do for him to grieve when he still had a task to complete. Now he was done with all that nonsense. He was free to be as scared as he pleased, and even more than that sometimes.

The dungeon hadn't scared him. Rats, snakes, boredom – Harry could cope with all of those things and he had on several occasions and didn't doubt he would again. Staring straight into Draco's undead eyes glittering with cold grey malice, however, scared him witless. The day before he had been distracted, out of sorts due to a change in circumstances and scenery, one better, one worse, but now he had to face the reality.

Draco motioned him towards the middle of the room and he complied, walking uncertainly over. "What-" he had barely begun his question when Draco punched him full in the face.

"Ouch! Fuck!" He cradled his jaw gingerly, fear quickly replaced by a combination of pain and anger. "What was that for? Bastard. I didn't do anything."

"Not recently."

"What? I'm confused. And ouch. Still ouch."

"Well that's hardly a change. I had a lot of pent up anger. Six years at Hogwarts with a git like you does that to a man."

"Give me my bloody wand and you'll see pent up anger! Ouch."

"Don't be such a baby. You volunteered for the position."

"Don't remind me. Worst mistake of my life."

"No it wasn't."

"What are you talking about, Malfoy?"

"You forget where my allegiances used to lie. I know a lot about you that even your closest friends never learned. Oh don't look at me like that. I didn't orchestrate that. I didn't even play any part in it. I just watched from afar. Listened. Never know what you can pick up in a place like that."

Harry was silent for a long minute, just standing there, staring blankly at Draco, a betrayed, listless and lost expression forming on his face. All of a sudden his knees gave way and he was on the floor, kneeling with his hands on his knees, his head bowed, his long black hair hanging down and obscuring his face. He stayed like that for some time, until his knees ached and his hands bore imprints from the fabric of his pants.

He sat there, breathing. Just breathing. Remembering that time. Fragmented memories flickered through his mind. A few links in a metal chain, the snap of leather, the taste of blood and sweat mingling on his upper lip, dripping down into his open mouth. So much blood…

When he looked up at Draco, still standing there and waiting for some response, the skin around Harry's eyes was red and there were unshed tears in his eyes. He blinked, trying to clear his face of emotion but failing. "That was behind me. I thought that was behind me. Please…"

"Would you like to hear what you said? What you confessed? What you did?"

"No…"

"The first days were the worst? Or were those the last? Was it the shock of being caught? Of knowing that no one was coming to save you? Or was it knowing what you would have to do to escape?"

"Please…just don't do this. Anything else. I can deal with anything else. I'm asking…I'm begging. Is that what you want? Do you want me to beg? I would do anything just to forget that, just for one day of believing that that never happened. And you know it, too. You knew it. Yet you bring that up."

"Yes."

"Why? Isn't this enough?"

"This? The amazing Harry Potter crying and despondent, utterly broken, on bent knees before me? Subject to my every whim?" Harry didn't say anything, merely stared mutely as Draco thought for a second. "No. I always thought…" His voice trailed off confusedly.

"Always thought what?" Harry was on his feet now, angry, taking charge, exploiting Draco's momentary weakness. "Always thought that owning me would make you happy? Always wanted to humble me, to humiliate me? Well congratulations. You won. I lost. So why aren't you happy?" He was screaming now, his throat as raw as his nerves.

Draco took a step back, calm and collected once more. Harry could almost see frost forming in his eyes and around the corners of his mouth, imagined it there as Draco spoke. "I will return later. Stay here."

Harry watched Draco walk out of the room, saw the door slam, and turned his attention to his ankle which was now attatched to a bedpost by a thick chain and an iron manacle. "Bloody perfect."


	7. VII

_I'm lazy, so sue me._ _Actually, it was when I looked at my story stats one day and realized that I had a ridiculous number of reviews for this one story that I figured I might as well write the chapter that had been bouncing through my head for some time. It changed in the telliing as the characters began running off in their own directions, but c'est la vie I suppose. Well, none of you want to read this part, so I'll let you get on with... the show?_

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Harry sat there for a time, willing himself back to calm. This was behind him. It was all behind him. The new life he seemed to have had fashioned for himself in the past few days wasn't much better, but had had chosen it. It was not that day. That day that Draco mentioned. That day that Draco knew about. He couldn't let it get to him – he had to preserve some sense of control. He didn't have any control left, though. He had handed it over to someone else, to someone else that he had never trusted and never would trust. Someone who knew something about him that he had never spoken about to anyone else. He hadn't even told Dumbledore about those few days. He had sat in that office at the top of the stairs for hours, staring at little, shriveled Fawkes, knowing now how Fawkes felt and wishing he could come out of it anew instead of just all burned up inside, the flames slowly pushing their way out as he pressed them back in.

Over time the pressing had become easier. It was like sucking your stomach in- you did it for long enough and it became second nature. You could forget that you were sucking it in because you'd been doing it for so long but as soon as something made you remember it was difficult again, something you had to concentrate on until it faded away. He wasn't sure it could fade away this time. Stuck in this house, this manor, with Draco was bad enough. Being nothing more than a slave, albeit willing, was worse. Having Draco know something that he had never seen fit to tell anyone else, having the one secret he had managed to keep his whole life thrust back into his face by someone like that was enough to break down the barriers he had kept carefully established for years.

As his anger drained away he felt the tears welling in the corners of his eyes, spilling over and dripping down his face and all he could think about was the ugly salt stains they would leave on his glasses and for some reason that just made it all the worse. Indignity added to insult. He calmed his breathing and felt his heart rate slow to a steady thump but the tears kept coming, as if every tear he had been holding back for years uncounted was seizing the opportunity to escape. Escape, he thought bitterly as he wiped the last of his tears from his face, was something he wasn't even allowed to think of. He had chosen his hell, and damned if it wasn't a fair sight better than the one he had escaped from. At least here he only had to deal with one other person.

One other person who came storming into the room and started rummaging through his drawers, ignoring the person shackled to his bed. Harry leaned back against the bed, trying his best to will a blank expression onto his face. After a few minutes though, curiosity got the best of him and he reasoned that if he was going to be living with Draco for an indefinite period of time he might as well be friendly.

"What are you doing?"

"Looking for something."

"Oh."

After a few minutes curiosity got the best of him again.

"What are you looking for?"

"Something important."

"Oh."

"What, Potter?" Draco asked impatiently, still rummaging.

"What what? I'm just sitting here. Couldn't go anywhere if I tried." He shook the chain to prove his point.

"Why are you staring? Didn't your mother ever teach you that it's rude to stare?"

"No, actually. She didn't and I doubt Petunia would have had the time of day to teach me anything useful. So I get to stare all I want." He resisted the urge to stick his tongue out like a petulant five-year-old.

Draco spun, irritated. "Fine then. Give me your glasses."

"What?"

"Your glasses. Give."

"Why?" Harry asked, confused at this sudden irritation and irrational demand. What did Draco need his glasses for? He could see perfectly well and he knew that without them Harry would be… "No. I refuse."

"What?"

"I won't give you my glasses. They're mine and you know as well as I do that I can't see a thing without them." You know as well as I do what happened the last time they were taken from me.

Draco stalked over and stood over Harry, patented sneer plastered across his face. "Potter, your glasses may be _yours_ but you are _mine._ Now give. Them. To. Me."

"No."

A flick of his wrist later Draco had Harry's hands bound painfully tight behind his back. He leaned over and picked them off of the other's face, folding them up and putting them in his pocket.

"What the hell, Malfoy?" Harry asked as he tried to wriggle out of the ropes, only succeeding in leaving angry rope burn on his wrists. "What is with you and the ropes and chains? Is this some sort of bondage fetish I never knew about at Hogwarts?" He glared angrily at where he thought Draco to be, surprised when his voice came from a different blur several feet to the left.

"You really can't see without these, can you?" He sounded slightly surprised. Harry felt the pressure on his wrists release and he leaned back against the bedpost, cradling his hands in his lap.

"Of course I can't, you dolt. Why else do you think I wear them?"

"Why did you never just get your eyes magically fixed?" He sounded genuinely curious now.

Harry smiled mischievously. "I'm not going to tell you. Not unless I get my glasses back."

"And you're not going to get your glasses back unless you tell me." He saw a slight movement from the blob and the chain was gone. "The best of luck to you."

"Right." Harry shifted his weight and pushed himself up with his left hand, stretching his legs gingerly. "So where's this bathroom of yours, Malfoy?"

"Door next to the dresser, Potter."

"Uh huh." Harry picked a direction with some promising looking blobs and started walking.

"Wrong way, Potter."

"Oh."


	8. VIII

_Thanks, guys, you're all amazing. Keep up the good work reviewing._

"What are you doing, Potter?" Harry ignored him and walked resolutely forward. He heard Draco sigh from behind him.

He smirked, feeling like he had won a small battle and strode right into something large and very, very solid. "Apparently, Malfoy," he said, picking himself up from the ground, "I was walking into a…honestly, I have no idea. A cabinet or something."

"Bookshelf."

"Anything interesting?"

"They're all in Latin. Honestly, I don't know why I bother keeping it around anymore. There might be one or two in Greek as well, come to think of it. Just as useless. I can't even read the language." Draco turned around and went back to his letter. He had scarcely dipped the pen in the inkwell when he heard another loud crash from behind him.

"For the love of… what did you break this time?"

"Me, from the feel of things." He winced and pushed himself into a sitting position, feeling down his leg and prodding the tender spots as his fingers came into contact with them. He felt something sticky but dismissed it and wiped his hand on the fabric of his borrowed pants.

"Sounded like it hurt." Draco's voice held no sympathy.

"It did. I have so many bruises I'd name them if I could see them."

Draco sounded irritated now. "How many more days of this idiocy? It's been nearly a week already and you're as black and blue as… something very black and blue. I don't know. Anything very black and blue. I don't think anything naturally exists in your current color scheme."

Harry paused before speaking, taking the time to enunciate each word. The sarcastic drawl sounded strange coming from his mouth. "Well if someone might return to me something to correct my… oh, what is it called? Let's go with visual impairment, I might be able to avoid hard. Sharp. Bookshelves!"

"Touchy, touchy."

He tried to stand but fell back to the ground with a hiss, clutching his leg. He couldn't see to check but he supposed there was probably a spreading red stain there. The thought of staining Malfoy's pants almost made the pain worth it.

"For fuck's sake, Potter, let me see it," Draco said as he walked over. "How did you ever survive Voldemort with eyesight like yours? All he'd have to do was take your glasses and you'd finish the job for him." He sat down and rolled up the leg of Harry's pants to cast a quick healing charm. "There, all fixed. Can't have you bleeding to death if it's not my doing. Did he miss the memo or something?"

"Oh, he knew," Harry said bitterly. "Thought it was a great joke. I think it was always his backup plan: if Harry Potter gets too close, steal glasses. Foolproof."

"Obviously not."

"Obviously."

They sat there in silence for a minute. "What would you have done if he had?"

"You really do think I'm stupid, don't you? I learned how to fix my eyesight in third year. Practiced the incantation so many times I could probably do it in my sleep."

"So why didn't you?"

"None of your business. Not until you give my glasses back to me at least."

Draco growled deep in the back of his throat. "I can drag that information out of you if I want to, Potter. In just a few minutes you could be spilling out your deepest, darkest secrets."

Harry shrugged. "I doubt you could manage a strong enough unforgivable for that. I've dealt with all three at one point or another so I think I can handle you."

"Sure you can shrug off the Imperius, but, Potter, even you can't deny Veritaserum it's due." Draco stood up and walked over to his desk and rummaged around in one of the drawers. After a minute he walked back and held a small vial of clear liquid right in front of Harry's nose. "You can see this, can't you, Potter? Feel like telling me now?"

"To be perfectly honest, not really."

Draco pulled out his wand and with a flick of his wrist transformed a galleon from his pocket into a gold chalice bearing distinctive pecuniary markings. He frowned at it and shrugged. It would do. "_Aqua._" Water filled the cup halfway and he poured the contents of the vial in and smiled maliciously at Harry, a wasted effort since Harry couldn't see well enough to notice the smirk. "Here, Potter. Have a drink."

Harry was starting to look distinctly uneasy. "No thanks, I'm not really thirsty. I'll pass on the poison."

"Oh, but Potter, you're my guest," Draco practically purred, "and it would be rude of me not to offer you refreshment." There was a decidedly evil glint in his eyes as Harry scooted backwards until the shelves of the bookshelf pressed uncomfortably into his back. Draco followed closely, holding the cup in front of him. He held it carefully, lest Harry try to knock it from his hands. Another flick of his wrist and Harry was all tied up with nowhere to go with a definite aura of panic around him. "And there are just so many things I've been _dying_ to ask you, Harry. We'll be such great friends once I know all your little secrets. Your crushes, your loves, your heartbreaks, and a few other little details besides."

Harry squirmed uncomfortably as Draco raised the goblet closer to his face. "Fine, I'll tell you. You win. I lose. Story of my life."

"Oh, but _Harry_, it's just ever so much better this way. Why ask you one question when I can ask them all?"

"Fuck off, Malfoy."

"Do you have anything better to offer? Maybe some other questions as well. An honest answer given freely is worth so much more than one from this stuff. I get to see your conflicted soul in action. 'Do I tell the truth or do I risk it and lie?' I know when you like, Potter. It shows in your face." He swirled the liquid around in its cup.

"Three questions."

"Five."

"Three."

Draco pretended to consider for a moment. "Very well, three. Answer to my satisfaction and… well, I'll just have to find another use for this. Otherise…" He let the treat hang heavy in the air.

"So, Potter. Tell me about your first kiss." Content, he released Harry and settled back, awaiting an interesting story.

Harry laughed brusquely. "Cho Chang. It was wet."

"Is that it?"

"Yep. And I'm sure you know about my other ones. _They_ were all over the Daily Prophet."

"The Weaselette."

"The one and only."

"Disgusting. Well then. I suppose I'll have to try for something more juicy. Any suggestions?"

"Malfoy, you know the one thing I never told _anyone_. Everything else pales in comparison."

"Then why so nervous about the Veritaserum?"

"Is that your question?" Harry raised his eyebrow incredulously.

"No. I think I know anyway. Let's go for the big one that started this mess in the first place. Why haven't you gotten your eyes fixed up? It would be easy enough."

Harry thought it over for a minute, his face scrunched up as he tried to think of how to phrase the sentiment. It wasn't something he'd ever had to express before, just a feeling always in the back of his mind. "I had to be perfect. I _always_ had to be perfect. I needed to be invulnerable and amazing and everyone's golden child. I was the bloody hero of the wizarding world and I hated it. Even when there was none, there was always pressure; everyone had expectations and Merlin help me if I couldn't fulfill them.

"I suppose it was just a weakness I let myself have. There were so many things I had to do well, and quite a few I couldn't manage to save my life, like Potions. It was a relief to have something that I was in control of. Dumbledore directed everything else. He tried to get me to fix it, you know? Tried to convince me that I was lost without it. To tell the truth, I would have been lost with it. It wasn't much, but it was all I had."

"What about your fan club? You had an army of willing minions to do your bidding."

Harry snorted loudly. "I couldn't even get them to leave me alone. So am I allowed to see again now?"

"One more."

"If you insist. Do try to make it as riveting as the first one. Let's get this charade over with."

"I'm thinking. Oh, what the hell. I can learn everything else if I just go far back enough in the Daily Prophet archives as you so kindly pointed out yourself. Pretend I'm your therapist, Potter, as I'm sure you have one. Tell me about your childhood."

Harry suddenly seemed much more withdrawn. "That's not a question."

"As you wish. Would you please describe your childhood?"

"Can't you pick something else?"

"Not now I can't. Get talking."

"My parents died, Dumbledore dumped me at my muggle relatives' doorstep, I lived in a cupboard under the stairs for eleven years until they got scared enough to give me a barred window and I went to Hogwarts, but you know that part. End of story."

"Wait. What? Cupboard?"

"Like you care. It's why I was always so scrawny."

"Cupboard?"

"It's like a closet, you keep things in it. Linen, plates, annoying little boys with scars."

"Are you serious?"

"That's question four, I don't have to answer it."

"You are."

"Dead serious."

"Why?"

"We're onto five, Malfoy. I answer this I get to see again." The blond nodded. "I'll give you the short version. My aunt and uncle think of wizards the way you think of muggles. I was a nuisance to them, nothing more, and the very thought of magic in their house was enough to drive them into a frenzy; that's why I didn't learn about any of this until I got my letter, and even that was an ordeal. Put the two together and it almost makes sense. They thought they could squash the magic out of me."

Draco sat in silence for a minute then fetched Harry's glasses from on top of his desk. Harry breathed a sigh of relief the minute the world around him came into focus. He looked down at himself. "I look like hell. You weren't exaggerating."

"One more question. Why don't you fix your sight now? Prevent some asshole from stealing your glasses. There's no pressure anymore."

"Habit. I like them."

"Even after the last week?"

"Yep." Harry stood up, bumping against the bookshelf as he did. He glanced over his shoulder at it and gave it a rude gesture. "Damned bookshelf."

"It's not its fault you're a blind klutz, Potter."

"Right. It's your fault for putting it there."

Draco rolled his eyes and went back to his desk. He had barely picked up his quill before he heard a voice from behind him. He turned to see Harry sprawled prone across his bed, watching him with intense green eyes. "I didn't catch that. Say it again, Potter?"

"Would you really have?"

"Would I really have what?"

"Made me drink it."

"Honestly, Potter. Why on earth would I bother keeping Veritaserum lying around? It's a headache potion. Helps me sleep."

"Remind me to steal the rest of your stock."

Draco sighed. "You don't have to steal it, Potter." He plucked one out from among his papers and tossed it over. Within minutes Harry was sound asleep, still taking up most of the room on the bed. Draco raised one delicate eyebrow. "And now I know why you haven't been sleeping, Potter. Stupid boy. You need to learn to ask."


	9. IX

_Right. Author's note? Don't hate me because my chapters are short and I never, ever update. _

_That's really about all I have to say. Oh, and 'woooo! Turn of events!' It's almost like there's a plot. Which there is. In case you were curious._

_ You'll see what I mean by the end._

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"Potter."

"Engh…whadyawant?"

"Potter."

"Mm…warm. Five minutes…"

"HARRY!"

"Eh? OW! What was that for?"

"You're on my bed."

"Am not." Harry opened his eyes and blinked blearily. "Oh. So maybe I am. What about it?"

"There's really not much more to it. Do you not see the problem with this? Because I assure you there is a problem with this and it is a rather large one. If you're perhaps too blind to see it perhaps I should take those ugly spectacles of yours back as they're obviously not helping anyway."

He sat up. "Keep your socks on. I'm moving. Why am I moving?"

Draco sneered at him. "It's dinner time, Potter."

Harry froze up, eyes widening slightly in fear. "What?"

"Calm down, Potter. Not _that_ dinner."

"Oh."

"We're going out. Get dressed." Harry scrambled off the bed, chasing after Draco as he strode out into the hallway. "I thought I told you to get dressed."

Harry's eyes narrowed for a moment but he dismissed the condescending jab. "What do you mean, going out?"

Draco sighed. "You remember Blaise? Of course you do. We're going over to his… place." The only sign of outward nervousness was the tapping of his index finger against the leg of his pants. Harry raised an eyebrow.

"And why am _I_ expected there? I thought I was supposed to just sit around here and be a good little boy until you needed me for…" he shuddered slightly. "that."

Draco tensed up angrily and he stepped toward Harry who quickly found himself pressed against a wall with Draco's pale fingers wrapped around his throat, cutting off air. He choked and stared wide-eyed in fear at the angry man in front of him, remembering suddenly why he had been so scared that first day. Draco sneered, pearly white fangs barely showing, eyes slits, shining an icy grey in ire. Harry closed his eyes, suddenly fearing for his life in a way he hadn't for years. Warm breath tickled his ear and he flinched. "Don't question me."

Harry opened his eyes to see those cold grey ones staring back at him, daring him to say something. He tried, but couldn't push the words out, managing only to choke ineffectually. Draco released him just as black spots were staring to form around the edges of his vision. He crumpled to the floor, gasping, and watched Draco's boots as the blond man walked purposefully away.

He pushed himself to his feet and placed a hand on the wall to steady himself. He then made the slow journey back to Draco's room where he found a set of clothes laid out on the newly-smoothed bedspread, probably Dana's work.

Tears prickled behind closed eyelids, but he scrunched up his face and refused to let them loose. He had chosen this, he told himself again and again, the litany running through his mind a familiar one by now. He had no right to complain.

The clothes were soft, expensive. Not quite formal, but certainly not appropriate for day wear. He slipped into the buttoned shirt and gave a silent thank-you to whichever gods were listening that it wasn't green. He was starting to really hate green. Beige he could deal with, just not green. As he pulled on the pants the strangeness of the situation struck him. Muggle clothes. To meet Blaise Zabini.

He wandered over to the window and stared out, not really seeing anything. He wondered again if he had made a mistake in coming here. There was no guarantee that he would escape with his life and none that he was saving anyone else's life in the process. The best he had to go on was Draco Malfoy's word and he had never been one to accept that before. The best he could hope for was that Draco was so set on tormenting him that he didn't have time to spare for anyone else. He poked again at the side of his neck, surprised when two little pinpoint scars were all he could feel instead of the now-familiar twinge.

Footsteps sounded in the doorway but he didn't turn to see. He knew who it was, felt an icy shiver run up his back at the thought. There it was, the familiar drawl. "Potter."

He wondered if it was a defensive thing, that Draco was always so condescending. People can't be above them if you don't let them. He didn't turn. The footsteps came nearer and he focused on the water droplets on the window. _It must be raining…_

He jumped when he felt a cold hand on his shoulder, but still didn't turn. He could feel his heart. With a sudden moment of clarity he realized Draco could too. He found himself swallowing bile at the thought.

Something cold pressed against his throat. He caught a glimpse of metal and his breath caught in his throat. He stood as still as he was able, not wanting to give Draco any excuse to slash his throat. Not that he needed one.

Harry didn't move until a slight click from behind him startled him. He raised a hand to touch his throat and felt a thin band around his neck. "Wha-"

"Don't bother trying to take it off. It won't come off until I want it to."

He turned away from the window at last. "Why?"

"I demand complete obedience. Can't have you running around embarrassing me."

"Of course not. Only myself," he muttered darkly. "And how exactly does _this_,"

he tugged at what he surmised to be leather from the feel, "ensure that?"

"Oh, Potter. I'm _so_ glad you asked." Draco walked to the center of the room. "Come here." Harry just stood, staring blankly at him, surprised at the light tone Draco had taken. "Wrong move." That was definitely more malicious. It was familiar, but hardly reassuring. Harry waited nervously to see what would happen, chewing on his lip. "You're quite proficient at resisting the Imperius, I noticed. I had to pass over the nice convenient toys. Too bad for you. I eventually decided on something a little…cruder. Since I can't make you do anything I thought perhaps all you needed was the proper motivation."

Harry's eyes darted back and forth behind his glasses, as if he were waiting for something to come flying out of the shadows and attack him. So far so good until… "Ow! What the fuck?" He clasped a hand to his side where a sudden pain had flared up. He stumbled back a step and pressed his back against the cool stone of the wall. Ignoring Draco he prodded the area, but felt nothing beyond the ache. A quick lift of the shirt showed nothing but an old scar, won from Bellatrix Lestrange in a scuffle outside Hogsmeade. It had been excruciating at the time but had healed fully. Poppy Pomfrey had made sure of that – he had been in that hospital bed for nearly two weeks, bored witless with nothing to do but cast levitation charms on the pillows. There was no reason for pain now, except… "What does this thing," he gestured casually, the motion calm belying the frantic feeling that set his heart leaping in his chest, "do, exactly?"

"Old pain." Draco smirked, apparently proud of himself.

"Then how come-" he clasped a hand to his forehead and grimaced. "Well, that one's settled." He slumped back and slid down the wall, his face losing its color.

"Ask."

"No."

"Pride?"

"Sure, whatever you feel like calling it."

"Quite the hamartia you've got there, Potter. Hubris, I think they called it back in the day. What comes after that? Oh, right. Nemesis. I suppose it's up to me to take the role of avenging fury. Interesting concept, wouldn't you say?"

"I have…no idea what…you're talking about…Malfoy." He spoke through gritted teeth, his nails biting into his palms and leaving pinpricks of blood. He bit his lip against a pained groan, not quite a scream.

"Hubris, Potter. Get used to it, I might be talking over your head a lot in the next few… oh I don't know. How long would you say you're planning on sticking around for? Get up, will you?" The pain eased and Harry propped himself back up, chalk-white and shaking slightly.

"Don't… don't do that again."

"Don't give me a reason to."

"I'll fucking kill you. I'll fucking _kill_ you, you sadistic son of a bitch."

"Just like you killed Nott all those years ago?"

Draco saw the pain flare up in his old rival's eyes right before Harry lunged at him, teeth bared and arms outstretched in vigor born of rage. He fell to the floor, head hitting the carpet, just inches away from the edge of the bed, blond hair in disarray against the floor. Harry straddled him, palms flat on the floor on either side of Draco's head. He leaned down, barely inches away from the other's face, which was newly fixed with a strange expression of mixed shock and fear. "I'm done with that," he hissed. "You will _not_ bring that up again."

Draco swallowed and Harry pushed himself back up and started to stand before tipping swaying slowly to the side, his eyes rolling back in his head and falling slowly to crash onto the hard floor.

A few minutes later found Draco sitting with Harry's head in his lap, a concerned expression fixed firmly on his face. "Potter, Pottter, wake up. Wake up. Wake up, damn it. I didn't mean for it to go this far… just wake up. Damn it, wake up!" Harry didn't stir, simply lay limp, barely breathing. "Fuck it, Harry. Just open your eyes, or make a sound, or…something. Anything! I do _not_ need this right now." Harry coughed slightly. "Yes, come on…wake up." Draco conjured up a cold cloth and dabbed at Harry's pale, drawn face with it, willing him to wake up with each anxious pat.

Harry's eyelids fluttered open slightly and he let out a low groan, pain manifested. "You're awake!"

He spoke hoarsely. "Why shouldn't I be awake? What… what happened? Why…" he came a little more to consciousness and realized where he was and sat up quickly, his forehead banging into Draco's face.

"Ow! Careful, Potter. I'm delicate."

"You're dead is what you are."

"Didew pay no addention in DADA? No madder. Problem now is dat I'm bleeding, Podder." Draco pinched his nose with his hand in an attempt to stop the flow fo blood.

"Shit, Draco, I'm sorry, let me just…" Harry paused and sat back on his heels as he came finally to full consciousness. "You…I know what happened."

"S'not impordant, Podder. I'm bweeding."

"Of course it's important! What the fuck do you think you're doing!" Harry was on his feet yelling now, pale though he was from even the slight exertion.

"Bleeding?" Draco had managed to staunch the flow somewhat and was eyeing his bloody hands distastefully. "Yuck. Well, at least you seem a little more alive." He swished his wand and the mess disappeared, leaving only a slight red trickle running down from one nostril. "Don't do that again."

Harry's mouth gaped open. "ME? You're blaming this on _me_? When you're the one with the collar and the vampireness and the crazy fucking sadistic habits? How the _fuck_ is this my fault?"

"You agreed to a role, now get used to it. And, just for the record, I believe _you _are the one with the collar, so now would be an opportune time for you to get used to doing what I say." He looked up at the clock on the wall. "Good, we can still make it on time. Go wait in the entrance way."

Harry opened and closed his mouth, looking rather like a fish in his shock. He stood there and stared at Draco for a few seconds until the blond looked up at him impatiently. A quick touch to his neck assured him that the collar was in fact still there and he, hesitant to risk inciting further wrath, stumbled out of the room.

Draco waited until Harry's footsteps had faded out before wrapping his arms around his bent legs, burying his face in his knees and letting the tears flow.


	10. X

_You people are crazy. __Crazy, I tell you. It's not even that good of a story, but you keep reviewing so I keep feeling bad for not writing and then I keep thinking that I should write something and then I finally do and I decide that it's crap and I chuck it. And then someone else reviews. So here's your story._

_ Don't you dare complain that it's short.  
_

_-Nicole _

_

* * *

_

Harry pushed the door open, nervously fiddling with his glasses, pushing them further up on the bridge of his nose. The room was filled with the quiet sounds of chinking glasses, clinking forks and pleasant conversation. He caught snatches as he made his way in, inquiries and answers about the work, the weather, sex, love, hate and the pea soup someone had ordered. It was a muggle restaurant, upper class. At least the wine would be good.

He spotted Blaise seated at a small table at the edge of the room, fiddling with his salad fork. Harry gulped and strode confidently over. He nearly stopped when Blaise fixed him with a chilling glare but managed to make it the last few feet and plop himself down in one of the chairs. The one furthest from Blaise.

"Potter."

"Look, don't get your knickers in a twist. I'm not here to bother you. Fuck, I wouldn't even be here if I had a choice in the matter. His precious highness Draco Malfoy sent me in to tell you he'd be late. How late? I don't know. Where's he going? I don't know. Why me? Okay, I know that one, but you can ask him yourself. I'm in no mood to be cordial."

Blaise regarded him coolly. "Draco failed to mention he was bringing…company."

"Well, he's just considerate like that, isn't he? I didn't even know I was coming until recently."

Blaise leaned back in his chair and eyed Harry critically. "If you had to show up invited you might at least have worn something a little…. nicer. That is not your color." Another critical look. "Wear something green next time."

"What is it with you Slytherins and the fucking green?"

"What is it you're doing here, delivering messages from the prince of the Slytherins himself?"

Harry flinched when he felt a cold hand descend on his shoulder and squeeze. "Oh dear, Blaise, I don't believe I've heard that title in years." Draco sat down, equidistant from Blaise and Harry, and picked up the wine list. "You haven't ordered yet, have you Blaise? No? Good. I feel the need for something red. I haven't had a good red in ages. Harry, don't just sit there with your mouth hanging open. It's unbecoming. Tell the man what you're doing here." He looked up from the list with a speculative look in his eyes and back down again so quickly that Harry was almost sure he'd imagined it. Almost, but not quite.

A prickle in his side distracted him from the moment of awkward silence. Draco was still deliberating over drinks. He didn't even look up when Harry glared at him. "Ow, fuck it, Malfoy, don't _do_ that." Harry thought for a moment. "Why _am_ I here? Of course! It all makes sense now. I am here," he addressed himself to Blaise, green eyes locked with brown, "because I have a fucking hero complex. Biological altruism, whatever. I want to save the world. Doesn't matter that I've apparently done it once or twice over. I want to do it again and again and again and quite often I end up doing something so fucking stupid that I wonder why I can't just let it go and live a normal little life with a normal family and a wife and kids an a fucking white picket fence. And if you will excuse me, I have to go and hyperventilate in an alley outside because it just hit me what I've got myself into and I've just realized that I'm stuck forever and ever and there is no. Fucking. Way. Out. Because even if I get out of this mess I'll just go and get myself into a new one." He turned to Draco. "Don't you even _think_ of getting me back in here before I'm ready." Draco just smiled down at the wine list, raised one perfectly manicured hand and shooed him off.

He just barely heard Blaise's response to Draco. "What the fuck did you do now?"

Harry made good on his word and wound up leaning against the filthy red brick of the restaurant's walls, hidden behind the half-full dumpster. He took his glasses off and tucked them in his left pocket so they wouldn't get salt stains on them. He hated that part of glasses. They always got dirty. You leaned on something or you dropped them or you cried, fucking _cried_ like a five-year-old denied her favorite toy or like a teenager stuck in a dark room with a collar around his neck like a dog and rats in the corners that scurried around just out of his line of sight…

No, not that. Not that.

He pressed one hand against the rough brick, feeling it cut his palm, shallow nicks.

When he finally went back inside it was after his face had regained its usual paleness and after he had scrubbed his glasses with the hem of his shirt until he was sure there was no speck of anything left on them except for the scratches.

"Welcome back, Potter. We were just talking about you."

"Nothing good, I hope."

Blaise smiled, baring shining white teeth. No fangs, though, Harry couldn't help but notice. "Not a thing. Quite the predicament you've gotten yourself into. I certainly don't envy you."

"Yeah, well me neither." He picked at the mess on his plate, wondered for a moment what it was and then decided it was probably better not to ask.

"It's-"

"I don't want to know, Malfoy. With your eating habits there's no telling." Draco looked pleased with himself.

Blaise apparated back to Malfoy Manor with them and chatted with Draco while Harry sat uncomfortably apart from them.

"Don't be too harsh, Draco." Harry had been nodding off quietly and occasionally

jerking back to attention when he realized that he was dozing. He was half asleep and heard their words only vaguely through the fog.

"Why not? No quarter and all that?" He felt himself sinking deeper but fought it, trying to stay just awake enough to listen.

"It wasn't his fault. Nott… well, we all lost people. And now you've got him, scared and alone and asleep on your couch. You would have done the same, I would have…" Harry lost touch with consciousness then, sinking down into the welcoming darkness. He didn't stay there for long.

"Potter!"

He shuddered and rolled over, remnants of the nightmare chasing themselves though his mind. "No…please, no..." A hand brushed against his forehead and he shuddered again at the cool touch and tried to curl up into himself.

"He's not feverish. It's probably just a nightmare. He's got reason enough to have them."

Then it all came back to Harry, where he was, what he was doing there, and whose hand was probably now resting on his back. He shook it off and turned over, face calm once again. He was used to hiding nightmares. He'd been doing it most of his life.

"I'm fine." Blaise quirked an eyebrow up nearly to his hairline. "Honestly, I'm fine. I'll be quiet now. No more nightmares or screaming or thrashing about or whatever it was I was doing this time. I don't need a babysitter."

"Certainly not screaming. They get that bad? How on earth did you Gryffindors ever get any sleep?"

"Why do you suddenly care so much? Stop being nice. It's unnerving."

"Hard to hate someone who doesn't hate you back, isn't it?"

"You made a good show of it earlier."

"You caught me by surprise."

Harry looked at him suspiciously, eyes narrowed and lips pursed. "Silencing charms. I'm really, really good at them by now."

Blaise nodded. "Useful things. For more than just nightmares." He grinned lasciviously. "No one ever need know what you're doing in the next bed over."

Harry winced. "Bad image."

"Oh, for the love of…I'm not _that_ unattractive, am I?"

"I didn't mean it like that."

"Then what did you mean, Harry?" Blaise leaned closer.

"Are you…are you _flirting_ with me?"

Draco's voice came drifting in from the corner of the room. "Don't mind him, Potter, he's notorious. And he's leaving. It's almost my bedtime."

Blaise cast an annoyed glare in Draco's direction and a softer one back at Harry. "I'll stop by sometime."

Draco stalked a little closer. "By all means, be his guest. Now, Potter, you have other duties here than being badly seduced by an aging nymphomaniac and if Blaise here doesn't mind I'd rather we get onto those. Wine is all well and good, and tonight's was rather spectacular, but I prefer a different sort of sweet red, personally."

At that Blaise apparated out and Harry was left facing a slightly amused, slightly annoyed, rather hungry Draco. It hurt this time, too.


	11. XI

_Yes, I updated. No, don't get used to it._

_Leave some love._

_-Nicole_

Harry lay curled on his bed, one hand fisted in the deep green sheets, the other tangled in his hair, drifting into and out of sleep. His glasses lay on the bedside table, flung carelessly there the night before. The bed Draco had pointed him to in the adjoining room was all green, of course. Harry hadn't even bothered protesting the color this time, rather used to its abundance by now. Draco still took a malicious glee in dressing him every day so the little green room was rather austere with just a bed and nightstand, sadly enough no magical wardrobe with perhaps a little crimson and gold, which wasn't much incentive to spend much time in the room.

He rolled over sleepily, wiping a trail of saliva from where it had collected in the corner of his mouth and rubbed at his eyes, trying to figure out what that sound was. The one that had woken him from a particularly pleasant dream. Damn that sound.

It wasn't a particularly urgent matter – there wasn't much to worry about except for an overzealous vampire – but it was something to do and he'd been much lacking in that respect for the past week. Draco had found something more interesting than tormenting Harry and Harry had yet to find something more interesting than being tormented by Draco. Which, he reflected sleepily, was kind of pathetic. He was almost willing to take up Latin. He snorted, the indignant sound muffled by the duvet. Not likely.

"Attractive, Potter."

He was up in a flash, hand groping blindly at his side for his wire-rimmed glasses. Finally his fingers touched the cool metal and glass and he jammed them onto his face, almost knocking them off his nose again with the rough treatment. "Whosat?" The bed tilted slightly to one side as Blaise sat gingerly down on edge. "Oh, you. What do you want? And why are you here so early?"

"You have a strange definition of early."

"Yeah, well, I don't have much need for the time at the moment. It's all relative to when his highness wants me up and about, anyway."

"All right, up, Princess."

Harry spluttered slightly. "P-princess?"

"If he's his Highness," Blaise took extra care to enunciate the capital, "then you must be his faithful consort." He offered his arm in a sweeping gesture. "Lady Potter?"

Harry rolled his eyes and tumbled out the other side of his bed. "Bugger off so I can get dressed. What green monstrosity do you suppose his _Highness_ picked out for today's humiliation?"

"I don't see what you've got against green. It's a lovely color. Nothing like that hideous maroon you used to wear all the time in school. Besides, I made Draco let me choose."

"You're nuts. It's crimson, anyhow. But the sentiment stands. Is it green?"

"Don't say crimson. It makes you sound pretentious. And yes, it's _very_ green."

"And why exactly are you in my bedroom?"

"Because I came to visit you!"

"Not likely. Right, hand over the clothes. I'm not going to stand around in my pyjamas all day just so you can gawk at me. Eyes. Up." He waited a moment and waved his hand in front of his face. "Up here! Hello? Good God, Blaise, you shared a dorm with the other Slytherin boys, didn't you? I'm sure there's nothing down there you've never seen before." He gave up and grabbed the pile of green fabric from the bottom of his bed where it had been cleverly camouflaged against the sheets. He muttered to himself about stupid, perverted Slytherins as he stripped and changed.

"So what exactly do you want?" He had dressed in what was, as promised, a _very green_ outfit and was currently seated cross-legged in the exact center of his bed. It was strategic. He had plenty of room to roll out of the way in case Blaise should make a move in his direction.

"Company!"

"Of course. How could I ever have missed that? No, seriously. What do you want? What painfully humiliating act do you have in store?"

"Actually, I just wanted to talk to you. About…this." Blaise gestured emphatically around the room from where he sat on the mounded bedcovers. "About Draco."

"I'm pretty sure I've got him figured out already. Crazy psychotic vampire and all. Hates me, drinks my blood every now and again. Ergh. Even saying it gives me the willies."

"You say that, but you're still here. I notice these things. I'm _perceptive._"

"Yeah, well, I'm a martyr. What was it that you came by to say? Say it and leave so I can get back to… nothing, really."

"Oh, never mind. Come on, Potter. Let's go shopping or something."

Harry grimaced, his nose curling up at the thought of prancing around _shopping_ with Blaise. Maybe, though…

"No, you can't buy anything in those awful colors."

Half an hour later found Harry trailing Blaise like a besotted puppy, as they wandered through the aisles, his arms full with bundles of clothing. None of which were crimson. "Why are we here?"

"Because I was bored."

"Right."

A few minutes later, after Blaise had tossed a few extra pieces on top of the mounds of fabric already threatening to spill out of Harry's hands, they finally meandered over to the counter. The smiling saleswoman – Harry suspected from the breadth of her grin that she was paid on commission – rang them up and Harry once again trotted after Blaise, now lugging shopping bags. Much more manageable shopping bags, he noted with great relief.

"What did you do to piss him off so much, anyway?" Blaise was licking cherry ice cream off his spoon in what Harry supposed was a seductive manner. Supposed with a great deal of skepticism. At least the waiter seemed interested, so Blaise's efforts weren't for naught.

"I didn't. He's just sadistic." Harry peered curiously at his own chocolate confection. Yes, those were definitely green swirls, and they were definitely still swirling. This was getting ridiculous. "I'm never going to get used to magical food."

"If you don't want to eat it, I will, and he's actually rather nice. Well, that's a lie, but he's not sadistic."

Harry plunged his spoon protectively into his ice cream and took a huge bite, green swirls be damned. "He sure seems pretty fucking sadistic to me."

"That," Blaise repied very calmly, reaching out with his spoon and snagging some of Harry's dessert, "is doubtless because you pissed him off. I think that I might know why, actually. I just want to know if you do."

"I'm a bespectacled, green-eyed, Gryffindor git." He shrugged. "Isn't that enough?"

"Not for what he's putting you through. Now, any idea?"

"Nope." Harry batted Blaise's spoon away as he leaned in for another bite. "Care to tell me?"

"It's not a very good theory."

"So?"

"It's more of a time frame, actually."

"Zabini, stop beating around the fucking bush and just tell me. That prick's been tormenting me since the first, well, second time we met. If there's something I can do to make the time I spend until someone up and stakes him a little more _pleasant_ I would appreciate knowing about it. Also, back off the ice cream. It's mine."

"Stakes him? How long have you been a wizard now, anyway? You need to learn something about vampires that doesn't come from muggle movies. And, like I said, it's not a very good theory. It's just that he never really hated you, just sort of despised you, until sometime during our seventh year. Well, mine. You weren't around for it, were you?"

"Nope. I was off gallivanting around, finding Horcruxes."

"Ooh… an adventure. You'll have to tell me about it at some point. I do so love stories."

"I don't think I'm qualified to tell most of that story. Hermione did most of the brain work and I just…gallivanted. Blasted a few trinkets."

"Anyway, I don't know exactly what happened. I just know that it was around the time that Pansy defected and Nott disappeared and Draco just sort of lost it a little and started hating you more than ever. He and Nott, well, they were close and after that, like I said, Draco had a rough time of it. I still don't know what happened to him, actually, but we thought maybe it was something to do with your side. Are you all right? You're looking a little pale. Paler than usual."

"I'm… I'm fine."

"Well, eat your ice cream."

"No thanks. You can have the rest of it, if you'd like."

Blaise dropped Harry back off at the manor several hours later. The Leaky Cauldron had been thrilled to see Harry Potter once again gracing its presence and had kept refilling his glass, no matter how much he begged them to stop. And, as Blaise had reminded him time after time, full glasses are terrible manners in the wizarding world. He suspected that wasn't quite true.

They stumbled inside and the vaulted ceiling and pristine white marble didn't seem quite as imposing this time. Harry slipped slightly and wound up clinging to Blaise for dear life. Blaise was, in Harry's opinion, far too happy about this. He disentangled himself, concentrating very, very hard on staying upright.

"Dance?"

"What?"

"Dance."

"What?"

"Dance!" Harry found himself grabbed and spinning in circles, held by an overenthusiastic Slytherin who was somehow managing to remain elegant despite the copious amount of alcohol floating around his bloodstream. Harry couldn't say the same for himself.

"Lemme go!" He noted, in some dark and mostly sober corner of his mind, that he was most definitely the woman in this partnership. The sin was compounded when Blaise dipped him backwards. And dropped him.

Muted clapping came from above them and he looked straight up from his position supine on the floor to see Draco leaning over the balcony railing. " I believe congratulations are in order, Blaise. First you manage to steal him and now you seem dead set on _breaking_ him."

"Steal?" Harry pushed himself up, managing only to sit. Standing was beyond him at this point.

"Yes, steal, Potter. Didn't I tell you that you weren't to leave?"

"But, Z'bini…"

"Yes, Potter. I understand. You were kidnapped. What tragic fate befell you at the hands of this hooligan I can only begin to guess."

Harry frowned. "Made me carry 'is bags. An' 'e got me drunk... 'cept I'm not drunk. Not."

"Potter, the one true sign that one has imbibed too much is that he refuses to admit it. Zabini, you useless prat, help me get him upstairs. There we go...yes, Potter, stairs. Oh for the love of..." Draco apparated the three of them straight into Harry's bedroom and dropped him on the bed with a look of disgust. "Zabini. You have five minutes to conclude any business you may have left on this earth before I murder you. I'm going to go find a sword." With that, Draco stalked angrily out of the room, muttering under his breath.

Blaise sat down heavily on the foot of Harry's bed. "That went well," he announced cheerfully. Blaise, Harry noticed sadly, was much less drunk than he. That was a shame. Who wanted to die sober? Or even just a little drunk? What was he talking about? Alcohol, probably. Oooh... that was the room spinning.

"Harry, you're talking to yourself."

"I am?"

"You are. You're going to be all right, great. Seeing as I don't really want to be eviz-eviscer-evizy... chopped up by Draco, good-night. Don't let the bed bugs bite. Only the vampy." Blaise skittered out of the room, pausing at the door to blow a kiss at Harry, who blushed wildly for about a minute until Draco returned, surprisingly sword-free.

"He's gone? Good." Draco surveyed Harry with a skeptical eye. "You're absolutely useless. I'll bet you had all of one drink, too. Poncy lightweight."

"Not!"

"Sure." He turned to leave, stopped a moment later by Harry's tentative whisper.

"Malfoy?" He turned to look and saw Harry sprawled sideways on his stomach across the bed, shirt twisted up under his armpit and glasses hanging sideways on this face. "I'm sorry."

"What for?"

Harry looked at him sadly through wide, drunk eyes. "I didn't want to, to hurt him. It was my fault, though. I shouldn't have. I'm sorry. About Nott. But they didn't know where I was. I had to..."

"Good-night, Potter."


End file.
